Every time someone is baptized, every time bread is broken and wine poured, every time a sinner hears, “Your sins are forgiven in Christ,” Pentecost happens again.
We all love a good origin story. Whether it's superheroes, ancient legends, or epic family histories, there’s something gripping about seeing how it all began. The Church has an origin story, too. And as you probably know, it’s a bit quirky.
It didn’t start in a cathedral, it started in chaos. In wind and fire. In a crowded room full of frightened disciples and skeptical bystanders. It began with a noise from heaven, flames dancing on heads, and languages erupting like a chorus no one had rehearsed.
It was noisy. Messy. Miraculous.
That was Pentecost.
And the Church, born that day, has been a beautiful mess ever since.
The church wasn’t born in silence or stained-glass serenity, but in a simple house rattling with wind, fire, and voices shouting in dozens of languages at once. Some said it was a miracle. Others said it was a drunken cacophony. Peter stood up (nervous I’m sure), and preached like a man who had nothing left to lose.
That was Pentecost.
And it wasn’t polished.
It was noisy, strange, holy, and undeniably human—just like the Church.
A Vision of Bones
Long before the tongues of fire fell, before Peter opened his mouth, God gave another strange vision. The prophet Ezekiel was taken in the Spirit to a valley filled with dry bones. Sun-bleached, scattered, lifeless. God asked him, “Son of man, can these bones live?”
Ezekiel, wisely, didn’t guess the answer. Instead, he simply conceded, “O Lord God, you know.”
Then God told him to prophesy. To preach to the bones. And as he spoke, something happened. Bones clattered together. Sinews knit bone to bone. Flesh wrapped itself over muscle and skin. But they were still just bodies, lying there.
Until the Spirit came.
God said, “Prophesy to the breath,” and when Ezekiel did, breath entered the bodies—and they stood up. Alive. Awake. A mighty army. That valley, once a graveyard, became a place of life and hope. This wasn’t just about Israel. It was a preview. A teaser trailer for Pentecost. A foreshadowing of how Christ would create his body: his bride, the Church.
It was about what God does when he speaks life into the dead—when he takes the broken and the breathless and makes something beautiful. It was about what he would do in Jerusalem. And what he still does today.
The Church: Born in Fire, Built on Failures
Back to that upper room in Acts 2. Let’s not forget who was there.
The same Peter who denied Jesus three times. Thomas, the doubter. James and John, the glory-seekers. Ordinary people. Wounded men. Women who had lost all hope and wept at the cross. Not a lineup of spiritual superheroes—just people holding on to a promise.
And then came the wind. The Spirit didn’t wait for them to get their act together. He came while they waited, not after they perfected their theology or figured out church governance. He came because Jesus said he would.
He came while they waited, not after they perfected their theology or figured out church governance.
And when he came, they were radically changed, and the world was changed forever.
Peter stood up—this same man who once swore he didn’t know Jesus—and preached. Boldly. Publicly. Scripture flowed from him like a river, and the gospel was proclaimed in all its power.
Thousands repented, thousands were baptized, and the Church was born—not from human planning but from the Spirit—from the same Spirit that moved in Ezekiel’s vision, from the same God who brings life where there is only death.
A Beautiful Mess
But let’s not romanticize it. The Church didn’t stay clean for long.
Read the New Testament and you’ll see it: arguments, hypocrisy, pride, confusion, immorality, division. From Corinth to Galatia to Jerusalem, the Church was a mess.
And yet, God kept working through it. Martin Luther called this paradox of the Christian life: simul justus et peccator — simultaneously saint and sinner. And that applies not just to individuals, but to the whole Church.
We are broken people with a perfect message. We are vessels with cracks and dents—but filled with treasure. We are dry bones that have been given breath. And this is not an accident. It’s God’s way.
The Keys to the Kingdom (Given to Imperfect Hands)
Jesus knew exactly what he was doing when he gave the Church the keys to the Kingdom.
“Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven,” he said. “Whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven” (Matt. 16:19). That’s not theoretical, that’s real authority, and incredible responsibility.
God entrusted sinners to announce forgiveness to other sinners.
Not because they had their act together, not because they were faithful, but because they were forgiven.
This is how God works: not by avoiding the broken, but by redeeming them and sending them out. He takes deniers, doubters, and misfits and makes them mouthpieces of grace. The Church has stumbled through history—sometimes honorably, sometimes shamefully—but always carrying the gospel. She has sinned. She has failed. But she has never been abandoned because she is Christ’s.
And Christ doesn’t divorce his bride. You, too, belong to Christ. He has breathed life into your lifeless bones, he has recreated you, and he will never leave you nor forsake you.
Pentecost: Then and Now
So what does Pentecost mean now?
It means the Spirit still breathes.It means God still calls preachers to speak to dry bones. It means the Church, for all her flaws, is still God’s chosen vessel for the Gospel.
Every time someone is baptized, every time bread is broken and wine poured, every time a sinner hears, “Your sins are forgiven in Christ,” Pentecost happens again. Every time the Word is preached and faith is created where there was none before, the breath of God moves through the valley once more.
Every time someone is baptized, every time bread is broken and wine poured, every time a sinner hears, “Your sins are forgiven in Christ,” Pentecost happens again.
Is the Church flawed? Yes. Can the Church be embarrassing? Yes. Has the Church been the cause of much pain in the world? Yes. Has the Church been rife with corruption and false teaching since the beginning? Yes.
We would all like to see the Church be better. We should certainly repent of our pride, our infighting, and our failures. But don’t let disappointment with the Church make you give up on her altogether. Believe me, I’ve tried. But God keeps pulling me back in, reminding me of the words of Phillip Yancey, “I rejected the church for a time because I found so little grace there. I returned because I found grace nowhere else.” (Yancey, What’s So Amazing About Grace, p. 16.)
The Church is extremely broken, messy, and filled with sinners, like you and me. But she belongs to Christ, and she’s all we got.
From Dust to Breath
Go back to Ezekiel’s valley one more time. Picture those bones again. Dry. Scattered. Hopeless.Then imagine the wind picking up. Bones rattling. Breath returning. Hearts pounding. Eyes opening. Life returning.
That’s not just a prophecy, that’s your story. That’s the story of the Church.
You and I were dead in sin—but God spoke. And his Word, carried by the Church, by flawed preachers and ordinary Christians, reached us. The breath came. And now we live.
So yes, Pentecost was a bit strange and messy. So is the Church. But don’t mistake the mess for a mistake. God chose it. He still does. And every time he sends his Spirit to breathe through the Word, the miracle happens again.
